Moch. Taufiqur Rahman

In the 1960s, a village in Java held a tradition they firmly believed in: the blessings of the land and its harvest depended on a sacrifice chosen fairly and lawfully by the black box. Each head of a household would draw a slip of paper, and the tension rose as one name was revealed. When night fell, the sound of gamelan and the chanting of prayers echoed through the village. There was no denial, no hesitation, for the black box had already decided who must be sacrificed.